


Oremus

by missmollyetc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let us pray</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oremus

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [supernatural](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/tag/supernatural)  
---|---  
  
_ **SPN FIC: Oremus** _

Title: Oremus

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Let us pray

Disclaimer: Kripke, you bastard. Supernatural isn't mine.

 

 

It should be gone by now. Whatever _it_ is, should be gone. His lips are cracked dry, voice raw from speaking. Hours and hours of speaking, Dean's never talked so much in his fucking life.

Sam is feverish, sweating and pale, cold where he does not burn. The thin motel sheets are soaked through, his set and Dean's, the bedding a tangle on the floor. He's down to their oldest, most worn sweat pants. They twist and fall off his hip bones when he tries to curl into himself.

Dean puts a hand to Sam's chest, covering the crucifix on the rosary he forced over Sam's neck in the early morning. The Jesus' face bites his palm. A cross mark, red and shiny, rises at Sam's collarbone, a ring of bead-shaped blisters around his neck. Dean eyes his bible.

Everything is all about how you talk to people, whether it's a lie, or the truth. Latin is a dead language. It's the first thing Dean learned, and the one thing he most understands, not that Latin is a language no longer in use, but that Latin _is a language of the dead._

"In nomine patri, et fili, et spiritu sancti."

He learned it for the dead, and he only speaks it to the dead: its mutations and verbs, the structure of its sentences. To ward or claim, deny or invoke, but every word drips with freshly dug grave dirt and the smell of old bones and salt.

"_Cristo._"

He can hear himself say it, even as he forms the syllables carefully in his mind.

"_Cristo._"

Maybe Sam can too. Where ever he is right now.

Sam bucks his hips against the soggy mattress. A mist rises from his body, spirals and shrinks and settles down again, deep within Sam's body, roiling in a new level of heat. Blood leaks out his mouth, smearing his skin. Dean would wash it away, but his arms don't want to lift. At least now there's some color in Sam's cheeks.

"**_Cristo._**"

Dean learned Latin at Pastor Jim's knee and managed to forget most of it in favor of Caleb's ability to make things go boom, but he remembers the important parts. Dean can hold a basic conversation.

"Domine, labia mea aperies, et os meum...annuntiabit laudem tuam."

The rosary under Dean's hand freezes, searing like metal instead of wood. Sam tries to move--

"Deus in adiutorium meum intende! Domine ad adiu...vandum me fe--festina!"

The bed shakes, slapping the headboard against the wall. Sam's body arches off the bed, heels digging into the mattress. He kicks out, lifting free, and Dean tackles him, landing on half top of Sam's body. The rosary is caught between them, digging into Dean's sternum.

"O mi iesu, dimitte--"

Sam's forehead collides with Dean's chin, and the impact jerks a scream from Sam's throat. Shock slides jelly-like down Dean's throat, tastes like bile. His muscles lock in place, heavy at Sam's wrists and hips. He jerks his face to the side, and smells cooking meat.

It's been two days. In less than one, he's thinking of becoming a vegetarian.

"Nobis debita nostra, libera nos ab igne inferni."

He can talk through the gag reflex. He's had practice. Sam writhes, and though before all was silence, now whimpers and whines pour from his lips, broken and harsh. Unable to find purchase, his legs slip to the side and bring Dean closer still. Dean shudders. Sam is all slick muscle and boiling heat, but his lips are turning blue.

Latin. The Latin always works.

"Conduc in caelum omnes animas, praesertim illas quae maxime."

There's something in Dean's throat, wet and choking, sharp at both ends. It leeches up into his mouth, cutting his tongue until it swells. Sam's head comes up, eyes blank and milky. He wails. There's blood in his gums.

"Indigent misericordia tua." Dean whispers.

Sam's head snaps to the side and then back, burrowing into Dean's neck. He screams, his mouth over Dean's pulse.

Dean tightens his grip. He wills his body to be lead, solid and unmovable. Sam pushes at him. Something thick and warm, slick like oil slides down the neck of Dean's shirt onto his chest, and he pretends not to know what it is.

The rosary shifts, hot and then cold, beating like a heart. Flesh bubbles around Sam's neck. Dean coughs until he feels the blockage rip free. He takes a deep breath and the air stings.

"Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae, vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve. Ad te clamamus exsules filii Hevae..."

 

END.

 

 

1\. In nomine patri, et fili, et spiritu sancti.

In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost.

 

2.Domine, labia mea aperies,   
Et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam.   
Deus in adiutorium meum intende,   
Domine ad adiuvandum me festina.

 

Thou, O Lord, wilt open my lips,  
And my tongue shall announce Thy praise.  
O God come to my assistance,  
O Lord, make haste to help me.

 

3\. (Oratio Fatima) O MI IESU, dimitte nobis debita nostra, libera nos ab igne inferni, conduc in caelum omnes animas, praesertim illas quae maxime indigent misericordia tua.

(Fatima Prayer) O my Jesus, forgive us our sins and save us from the fires of Hell. Lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy.

4\. (Salve Regina) SALVE, Regina, mater misericordiae, vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve. Ad te clamamus exsules filii Hevae.

(Hail Holy Queen) HAIL holy Queen, Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve.


End file.
